Throughout the night, my shivers continue to plague me. I can hardly move and when it's time to use the bathing room, Renit has to carry me there and stand outside the door in case I fall off the toilet. With all the irritation simmering off of him like steam, I've tried to walk there myself but have found putting one foot in front of the other to be too difficult.

I don't get a moment to forget anything is happening to my body until I finally drift off to sleep with Renit tucked against my back, his arm draped around my waist and a hand pressing against my stomach. I don't dream and I don't wake, which is a sign my body is transitioning from one terrible symptom to the next. The next time my eyes open, I'm laying in a puddle of my own sweat and my throat is as dry as a desert.

The night sky is a dull shade of blue as the morning hours take hold and raise the sun into the sky, covering the stone buildings in the capital with a blanket of warmth. Beyond the gates and into the quiet streets, few find their way to stores and restaurants while others, many who don't have to work long hours to live in such a luxurious place, are still sleeping soundly.

Citizens rich enough are the ones living in the capital. With such close proximity to the castle, the cost of living is outrageous in such a large city. But that doesn't mean there isn't enough room for the citizens unable to afford those luxuries. On the other side of the city, stretching as far as the eye can see and far enough away I can't notice the dull, cracked state of the buildings, are the slums. The brothels, the fighting pits, the taverns, and the many other mysterious places no one wants to enter at the wrong time of night.

I've heard of those slums and the cruel people slithering about. There are too many of them for the capital to keep watch so the only time the people in the slums are dealt with is if they do something wrong. Or for random hangings when those dirty, near rats don't cooperate with the laws the king set in place.

"Renit," I groan. He stirs behind me, shifting in the puddle of sweat. I lift myself onto an elbow.

He sniffs once, opens his eyes, and groans at the sight. Hair sticks to my forehead and to the back of my neck and I can only imagine how crappy I look from his view. If the prince saw anything in me before, that's definitely gone now.

I want so desperately to peel off the layers of my clothes and the blankets and sit in the cold air but Renit is moving before I can do anything. He shuffles to the bathing room, rubbing at his tired eyes, and disappears. The faucet squeaks a second later and water fills the tub. With every breath I take, the heat of that air presses against my cracked lips and chin.

There is no moisture left in my lips or in my throat and the only thing left on me is wet—my clothes, soaked with sweat and my hands—clammy. With the chills from hours ago, my muscles were already aching. Now, it's even worse. My body no longer stiffens like an icicle; I've altered into a raging inferno refusing to cool down.

At least now I can walk. I peel off my socks and move towards the windows, relishing in the cold wooden floorboards seeping into the bottom of my toes. Renit appears just as I open one of the windows and sit on the ledge, my back to the cold morning air. The familiar sound of morning waft into the room. Birds and the whispers of servants moving about.

Somewhere in the capital, carriage wheels clop over the stone streets and a horse shakes out their mane. I love those sounds, the distant thrall of the world beyond. I wonder if I'll ever see those streets or if I'll remain stuck here for the rest of my life with a fever and chills.

The cold air soothes the sweat on the back of my neck and I close my eyes for a moment to relish in the freedom. Then, as usual, Renit is there to ruin it. "Come sit in the bath," he orders.

I open my sweaty eyelids. He rests his shoulder against the doorframe to the bathing room. Just the sight of him sends a wave of annoyance through me but I get up anyway so we don't start fighting in the morning hours. If I wanted to do that, I wouldn't have waited this long.

"The least you can do is ask nicely," I grumble as I push past. He watches me go and raises his eyebrows at me as he turns. The prince is exhausted. Those silver eyes droop when he looks at me, when he looks at anything, and I'm tempted to tell him to go back to bed. If he doesn't, we'll be one cranky pair.

Life has never fully fluttered into his silver eyes. I've never seen a color like them, with the potential to be brighter than stars, but Renit keeps himself behind a wall and locks his happiness away with as many titanium chains as it takes to snuff out the desire. Dark lashes and brows border the silver, a cry of light into the dark, yet he doesn't give in. And he never will, something looms beyond what I can see. Something the prince can't forgive.

"Take a bath," he fumes.

I grab the hem of my shirt but remember he's still standing there. "I can't undress if you're standing there." My fingers run along the soaked surface, equally as wet.

Renit rolls those tired eyes. "I'm over three hundred years old, if you think your body is any different from the other women I've seen then you're wrong. Get in the tub." He points an angered finger over to the white porcelain tub, nearly filled to the rim with clean water.

I arch a brow at him. "No bubbles?"

His eyes darken and his mouth tightens into a thin line. "If you don't get in that tub right now, I will put you in there myself." And his ways will not be as pleasant as simply stepping in.

I want to throttle him but I say, "Fine." I pull my shirt over my head, suddenly not caring, and he gives me the respect of turning around so I can remove everything else.

All the while, I watch the tattoos on his back. The black lines stare back at me, twisting within each other. Their width is no thicker than two of my fingers put together and at the base of his neck, three sharp points end there, like three blades pointing to his dark hairline. The same goes for his front, the matching end of those tattoos end in three. Tracing a map over his skin. What is the symbol of three, if any at all?

I sink into the tub and pull my knees against my chest. Immediately, a hint of liberation accompanies the lukewarm water—not too hot and not too cold. Renit pulls up a stool and sits at the edge of the tub once I'm settled. The tips of my hair float against the clear surface.

"You can go to sleep," I offer quietly.

"The sun is rising, I might as well stay awake since you've kept me up all night." He scrubs at his face. The veins bulge against the back of his hand, leaking to his forearms. "I'll sleep when this is over."

When will this be over? Part of me is already adjusting to the life of pain scorching through me, aching my muscles and rattling my bones. With the chills, I didn't want to move. With the fever, all I want to do is rip Renit's head off so clearly, I'm making some progress with my state. If violence is to be considered progress.

My neck aches so I rest my head against my knees and allow the water to slosh against my skin. As I close my eyes, feeling the burn of sweat against my skin, I say, quietly, "You collect daggers and feathers."

He pauses for a moment and then nods. "You weren't too sick to be snooping around." No amusement matches his words.

"You left the door to your armoire open, you fool. And the feathers are on your desk." I open my eyes, sweaty lids blinking slowly, and meet his eye.

"Did you see any daggers you like?" The first caring question he's asked me. I force down my excitement, mixed with shock.

I squeeze my eyes shut as my head pounds with an oncoming ache. It subsides, only for a moment, all the time I need to speak. "The one with the jagged stone handle; painted to look like flames."

Renit rolls his neck, considering. "That's not a...terrible choice."

I snarl at him with my eyes closed. "You would have hated it if I picked your favorite. You'll hate which dagger I pick, no matter what."

He snorts. There is resentment in his movements as he stands from the stool and shoves it back into the corner with a forceful hand. Just like that, he's done with me. I want to keep going and piss him off a little further but if he tries to dunk me underneath the water; I don't have any strength to get myself back up. So I don't mind when he storms out, only to have him return a few seconds later. He doesn't pull back the violated stool, but he crouches in front of the tub and extends something out to me.

Through my blurred vision, I make out a dagger in his hand. "This one is my favorite," he mumbles.

And I can see why. The handle is dark wood, barely big enough for his grasp, and the pommel is the rounding of two snake bodies curling together, seemingly disappearing underneath the handle and reappearing again as those same two snakes twist together as blades into two sharp points meant to stab someone through the heart.

I take the dagger from his hand and smile weakly at the two snakeheads meant to be the crossguard. Their mouths open in a deadly hiss and their fangs, as sharp as knives, drip venom. Gold bodies slither together, coming to life in my hand as dangerous as Renit desires his enemy to believe.

"It's more for decoration," he says. "I've never actually used it before."

He takes the dagger back from my wet hand and wipes away the water with a nearby towel. The way he takes such care of something so useless; it's strange to see him move gently with anything. But now I know he cares about his daggers, possibly more than his own brother.

"Where did you find it?" I ask. My eyes drift closed again to block out the candlelight.

"My father purchased it for me when he traveled to Lona in search of my Grounding. There was a rumor of a witch of ground there, years ago, but he had been killed off before my father could arrive. No one wanted the king there, too many deathly acts occurred in the street. When my father arrived, the king amongst his people, he helped them complete their evil deeds." Renit restrains his eyes down and runs two fingers over the complicated blades of the dagger in his hand. Whoever crafted the dagger had spent intricate hours carving the resemblance of a snake's skin—even the hard bumps and coarse lines.

I study the softness of his face, incomplete against his sharp cheekbones and stronger jawline. A handsome prince—no one is scared to admit that. But when they see the monster lying underneath as I have, no one thinks twice about running. "Do you agree with your father's principles?"

Renit's eyes grow cold. "I believe the kingdom needs a strong ruler and I know my father is that ruler. Silas...he's too soft. He wants to cater to every need by every citizen and if he does that as king, he will get himself killed. We need a ruler of force, not one with a gentle hand."

"Maybe Silas is the king I need. He's not the king you want because you've been given everything you've ever wanted." I turn my head so I'm looking away from him.

I feel his eyes watching me. "And what makes you think your short life has been so hard?" He challenges. No one dares to speak the words I have but with the lightness in my head, there is no filter between the words I want to say and the things I shouldn't. They're the same.

"Look at where I am now. You ruined my home, killed my people, my parents, and forced me to marry you." Everything the royal family has done wrong spills out of me, mingling with the fever like old friends. I want to burst at him but my body is too weak to muster that type of strength. I doubt he wants to fight someone naked.

"I didn't do all of those things because I enjoyed it." Renit rests his forearms against the lip of the tub, his fingers brushing against the breakable surface of the water. "My father ordered every bit of that."

I turn back to him and raise my head just enough to avoid wincing at the rise in my neck. I think back to when he so delicately massaged the sore muscles there, his warm touch being the center of my universe. The prince is allowing his true colors to bleed through; not the caring person but the coldhearted I've grown used to. "I saw the way you smiled at me in Arego, I saw the death in your eyes. When you saw me, I was just a game to you—a game of cat and mouse. If you had the chance, you would kill me before I ever stepped foot outside of that village."

His nostrils flare with annoyance and very gently, he sets the dagger down in his lap. "Silas told you about the anniversary of a loved one's death, did he not?" I nod. "That was around the same time. Days around, weeks, I don't remember. When you saw me, I was drunk off my ass and itching for a fight. You were the target and yes, if I had the chance, I would have killed you because killing you is much more of a mercy than bringing you back."

I scoff at the irritation in his voice. "At least you're being honest. It's nice to know my betrothed wants to kill me."

"You didn't let me finish," he growls through clenched teeth. When I usher for him to go on with a wave of my hand lapping against the surface of the water, he does. "I didn't want it to...happen again. Killing you was safer for you than coming back here, to face my father's wrath. I knew you were young and figured the Grounding wouldn't work, to begin with. In that second, when I saw you standing there, I rendered you useless."

His eyes never once leave my own. For a man of such experience, in more ways than one, he doesn't look at parts of me that don't belong to him. If anything, we're two clothed people sitting in the same room with a wall between us. With every word he speaks, I smell the mint on his breath—cold mint reminding me of a time when my head wasn't on fire.

"Great, insult me further. That's just what I wanted." I move to get out of the tub, to get away from him and escape to Celestine's rooms or even Silas's, but he places a hand on my arm. I flinch from his touch, thinking he might break the bone, but he simply presses his palm against my hot skin.

"I realize now," he begins without looking at me. Instead, he looks at the hand wrapped around my arm. "I realize now that I am wrong. You are not useless."

His hand slips away and warmth lingers from his callused fingers. I want to mock him for stooping so low with a compliment but I also want to thank him for finally seeing something in me. But instead of saying anything to take back these kind words, I nod and turn back towards the stone wall, resting my cheek against my knees.

The bathwater has cooled around my naked body and after a few minutes of allowing me to catch up on sleep, Renit nudges me with a towel and orders me out. A thin nightgown waits for me, barely long enough to reach my knees. But I don't mind, especially as my forehead is a separate fire.

He orders the servants to change the sheets on his bed and fetches a new set, only to have me sleep on the chaise so I don't make another mess. At least the chaise is near the open window and as he crawls back into bed, pulling the new, clean sheets over his body, I take a moment to let his words sink in.

I'm no longer useless. There is something within me he sees, other than what I've developed to be. His annoying betrothed. I am something more than that, the one who will be his Grounding and stand at his side when the storm threatens to sweep him away.